Would You Rather
by JamesTheGreater
Summary: Sam and Freddie play a little game which leads to a discussion of some uncomfortable truths.


**I don't own iCarly. **

**This one-shot was inspired by Poodleandnoodles's fantastic story Chicken. You should check it out. It is definitely worth your while. ****I just wanted to try my hand at the whole love-triangle thing. Obviously, mine is nowhere near as good. **

* * *

"As far as people go, you're pretty boring."

Freddie glanced at the blonde second lawn chair on the fire escape. Sam was lounging with her feet resting on the railing. She was currently concentrating on a permanent marker and his arm, something he regretted giving to her.

"Yeah, I guess that explains why my arm is covered in penises."

She looked up and shook her head, her hair swishing back and forth in a flurry of yellow.

"No...," she started slowly, "these are cucumbers."

He raised an eyebrow. "Cucumbers?"

Sam nodded. "With shoes."

Freddie snorted. "Cucumbers can't wear shoes."

"Then how else are they going to impress the ladies? They need cool shoes. And beanies."

He quickly retracted his arm before she could do anymore damage. Sam gave a shout of protest.

"No, Sam. Cucumbers are vegetables," Freddie lectured matter-of-factly, "they don't need shoes and they especially don't need beanies."

Sam thought a moment before lunging for his arm. He dodged and stood up, causing her to crash into his chair. Freddie smirked and leaned casually on the metal railing. Things were better now that he was faster and stronger than Sam. She glared up at him.

"You suck."

"Why thank you, Puckett. I never realized that. I'm glad you brought this serious issue to my attention. I'll try my best to resolve this problem."

"You know, your newfound confidence wouldn't help you survive an 8 story fall. I could just push you over the edge and no one would know."

He scoffed. "Mhm. Too bad you're weaker than me."

Sam jumped up and advanced threateningly.

"I don't have to be stronger than you."

She placed a finger on his chest.

"Sam," he warned, "what are you doing...?"

"With a railing this low, your center of gravity only has to shift a teensy bit."

She applied a small amount of pressure and sure enough he began to tip. Freddie's breath caught in his throat. He was painfully aware of the cars in the street below; the street that was made of hard, unforgiving asphalt.

She grabbed his collar and yanked him forward so that they were inches apart. Her blue irises darkened in the shadow of his face. From this distance, he could smell her wild-berry shampoo.

"Then again...," she whispered, "...I'd lose my benefits, _friend_."

Chuckling, Sam winked, then let him go and returned to her seat.

Freddie shakily smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"That was not funny. Not funny at all."

She leaned back, lacing her hands behind her head.

"Actually, I thought it was semi-amusing. And look," she tilting her head at the watch on his wrist, "we wasted another 5 minutes. Only 2 hours and 55 minutes until Carly and Spencer return from their Granddad's house."

Freddie sat down with a huff.

"I think you need to get your priorities straight. I could've actually fallen. Just because you were bored."

This got a grin out of the lunatic girl. "That'd make a good epitaph. Here lies Freddie Benson. Age 16. Died to quench Sam's insatiable thirst for excitement."

He gave a dry laugh. "Glad to see I'm good for something. I was getting worried you were taking me for granted."

She patted his head. "Don't worry. On the scale of what's important to me, you're _way_ up there. Between the lint in my pocket and the gallon of sour milk left in my fridge."

"That's it." He made to stand up, "I'm outta here."

Sam smile disappeared. "Wait! What? You can't just leave me here with nothing to do!"

Freddie sat back down. "Yes, I can. Unless, of course, you admit that I'm important."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. You're important. As important as...hot dogs. I like those. Happy?"

"Not really, but it'll work for now."

"Great. Now that we got that over with... entertain me."

"How?"

"I dunno. That's your job."

"We could...study?"

"Or I could jump off this fire escape."

"We could... sing."

"Are you serious?"

"We could hold hands?"

Sam thought for a moment then grabbed his hand in her own. They stared at their point of connection for a couple seconds. She let go.

"Well, that got old fast."

"Let's see you come up with something better. It's easy for you to shoot everything down."

Sam glanced around before giving him a significant look. "We could always..."

Freddie sighed. "Sam, my mom could come out at any minute. She has a sixth sense for these sorts of things."

"Ugh," she groaned, flailing about in the lawn chair, "forget the fact that _you_ suck. Your _mom_ sucks."

"That's not nice."

"_I'm_ not nice," came the obvious reply.

Freddie couldn't disagree with a proven statement so he kept quiet.

They sweltered in silence until Sam spoke up.

"We could play Would You Rather..."

"Are we really going to sink that low?"

"Yes."

"Alright. You go first."

Sam hummed what sounded like Cuttlefish's newest single _There's a Monkey on Your Back_. She finally asked the question after she got to the refrain.

"Would you rather run naked through the school or get hit by a truck."

He answered immediately. "I would definitely streak through the school. I was hit by a truck already. It wasn't that much fun, to tell you the truth. Kinda hurt."

"Yeah," she scoffed, "no chizz."

"So would you rather...have a house made of ham or have a lifetime supply of Groovy Smoothie's smoothies?"

Sam tapped her chin. "Hmmm. Is the ham glazed?"

"Does that matter?" Freddie asked.

"Obviously."

"Okay, then yes. The hams are glazed."

She threw her arms in the air. "See? That makes my decision easier. According to my food math, one regular ham is worth about 4 smoothies. But a glazed ham is worth 6. If my calculations are correct, an average sized house will consist of roughly 5,670 average sized hams. I currently drink smoothies at a rate of—"

"SAM! Just answer the question."

Sam frowned. "Sheesh. Curb your fish. I choose...ham house."

"Thank you," Freddie gestured for her to go on, "your turn."

If Freddie could choose any one thing in his life that he could do without, it would be Sam's "trouble" face. That's where everything started. He and Carly knew that they would be lucky to end up alive and not in jail when Sam got her trouble face. It exuded an aura of criminal activities. And for the times they didn't cross the legal line, he ended up injured, humiliated, or both. But over the years, he had developed a sort of sixth sense to predict the appearance of the face. Right now, the warning bells were deafening.

"Would you rather spend a lust-filled night with Mrs. Briggs or would you rather give...Principal Franklin a sensuous massage?"

It appeared she chose humiliation.

"Um...how about I pass."

Sam laughed derisively. "You can't pass. That defeats the purpose of the game. Stop being such a wuss and choose."

Freddie groaned, wondering why he had agreed to play this game in the first place. "Fine. I would rather give Principal Franklin a mass-"

"Sensuous," Sam interrupted.

"-right. Sensuous massage than spend a lust-filled night with Mrs. Briggs."

"Ah. Batting for the other team, eh? I knew it."

Freddie sputtered. "I-no, you said-because Mrs. Briggs."

"Cool it, Fredolent," Sam said, patting his cheek, "I was kidding. _I_ obviously know you like girls."

He glowered at her. Let's see how she likes being embarrassed like that.

"My turn and I have a damn good one. Would you rather make out with _me_ or...Griffin?"

Sam face turned red. "You can't ask things like that! That's cheating."

It was Freddie's turn to laugh. "No, that's the game, Sam. And no passing."

She stared for a moment before she sighed and looked away

"You."

Smugness emanated from Freddie's smile. "Whoa! Kissing me is one thing, but choosing me over Griffin? The cool, bad boy? This is something else."

She scoffed. "Yeah, but when the cool bad boy collects Pee-Wee babies you can't really brag about it."

"But still," he insisted, "That must mean you have at least one shred of feeling for me."

She tensed.

"You wish."

"Stop lying, Sam."

"Stop being a douche, Freddie."

"Just admit it!"

"There's nothing to admit!"

"Why can't you just say it?"

"Why does it even matter?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Freddie jumped out of his seat and walked to the railing, taking deep breaths as he went. He looked down at the street below, at ant sized people living their lives. Sometimes he wished he was someone else. Just a part of the crowd. Then somebody else would have to be Freddie Benson.

"Why?"

Sam's quiet voice came from his right.

Freddie sighed and turned his head. She too was staring at the view beneath their fire escape. The wind had started up and her hair was being blown sideways into her face. Every few seconds, she would take a hand and sweep the whole mess away.

If only it was just that easy for him.

"You're kind of obligated to answer since you ruined the mood and everything," she told him, her tone stonier than before.

He sighed again and closed his eyes.

"I thought it would make things easier."

Sam froze with her hair in her hand. She let it go and it resumed its job of blocking her face.

"Make things easier? Freddie, things aren't just going to clear themselves up. It's never going to get easier. I'm not going to put myself out there if there's nothing waiting. It's up to you."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Sometimes I don't think you do. This isn't just some game. These are people's lives. My life. Carly's life." She glanced over. "Your life."

"Shut up, Sam."

Suddenly, she straightened up.

"No."

"Please?" Freddie pleaded. She stared him steadily in the eyes. Her azure irises flashed and he knew what she was going to ask.

"Would you rather—"

"I can't answer that, Sam. Please. I just can't. Not yet."

He slumped to the ground and sat against the railing. Sam followed his lead though with jerkier movements. Characteristically, she ignored his words.

"I'll put it in simple terms so you can understand. Me or Carly."

Freddie tried to block it out just like he had been doing for the last couple of months. Every time she asked him, he thought of the injustice of the situation. Sam barely knew what she was feeling and yet she expected him to decide what could possibly the most significant choice of his life so far based his own teeter-tottering thoughts.

But he knew it was entirely his fault anyways. He never should have accepted Sam's offer in that park during the summer. He knew sooner or later he'd have had to actually choose. He knew Sam cared more than she let on though he didn't know to what extent. She said it was only for the fun of it. He knew that wasn't the case. Just the fact that she chose him told him enough.

Only, he still couldn't let go of what he had with Carly. Freddie had made progress. She hadn't returned any of his advances, but they had grown closer. And it wasn't easy to throw away something he had been doing for 5 years. It was so ingrained that he couldn't see his life without chasing after Carly. It felt right.

But being with Sam also felt right.

Freddie was beyond confused.

"Why do things have to get so complicated?"

Sam shrugged and gave a non-committal grunt, fiddling with the strings on her hoodie.

"Remember the old days when all we did was to sit around and chuck stuff at each other."

His blatant attempt to change the subject earned a withering glare.

"Look, I'll...I'll tell you in a week," he said, hoping to appease Sam's anger, "Deal?"

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his face for any sign of trickery. When she was satisfied he was being serious, she spit into her hand and grabbed his, pumping it up and down forcefully.

"Deal. Though you should know that I am tired of waiting. If you break your promise...well, you don't even want to know."

Freddie nodded and grimaced at the squishy wetness of the handshake.

"Gross. I thought you were through doing that. What are you five?"

Sam smirked. "If I was, then you'd be one sick pervert."

He rolled his eyes at the remark though he was relieved that she was happy again. They sat in relative silence until he glanced over. Sam was gazing at the brick wall, chewing on her bottom lip, deep in thought. She had drawn her hoodie closer to her body in an attempt to block the cold. Her hair was being blown every which way.

To be frank, Freddie thought she looked pretty cute, something he had never used to describe Sam before.

"Hey," he nudged her shoulder, "would you rather bite on your lip or have me do it?"

She smiled. An honest-to-goodness, genuine smile. "Why, Mr. Benson, I do believe you are pushing your luck."

Freddie grinned and leaned in.

"FREDDIE BENSON! What in the name of George Washinton's false wooden teeth are you doing! And-and are those...PENISES on your arm!"

Freddie jumped up, leaving Sam in a laughing heap on the floor.

"Mom! Those are cucumbers! I swear!"

* * *

**WANTED: Aussiemma, axel100, Baalrules, BoxofTrinkets, Italianbabexo8, iCarlyangst, iLuvNathanKress, KingxLeon21, myjumpingsocks, Pieequals36, pigwiz, Tech-Man, and The earl of sandwich. These criminals are to be apprehended for being notoriously superb writers.**

**Peace out.**

**Oh, and please review. Thanks!**


End file.
